


Best Served Cold

by LonerRavenclaw



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Angst, But it's not graphic or anything, Failed Revenge, Gen, Mentions of Violence, Pre-Canon, chimera, it's in the time between the first scene and the main story, well I say pre-canon but I guess technically mid canon?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 20:08:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9920444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonerRavenclaw/pseuds/LonerRavenclaw
Summary: Owen wants revenge on the man who left him for dead.





	

Owen was barely out of the hospital when he got on the plane. He'd spent months recuperating after the explosion. Months during which he'd heard nothing. No one had come to look for him. His bosses, his colleagues, his family... It seemed they'd all taken Curt at his word when he'd assumed Owen was dead. When he'd _left him_ for dead.

Owen had done his best to find news about the secret agent, the man whose career was still no doubt thriving in the world of espionage. But, spies deal in secrets, and secrets are hard to track down from a hospital bed. News was scarce and helpful news was scarcer. The only thing that Owen had had an abundance of was time. Time to think. And during the long, silent, months of thought Owen's pain and betrayal at Curt's actions had festered into bitter resentment and hatred toward his former partner.

So now Owen was on a plane to America, still using the name in the fake passport MI6 had given him for that last mission, and heading for Washington. His first stop was headquarters. He waited in an alley across the street from the painfully nondescript building for someone useful. Finally, he saw someone he recognized from Cynthia's office. As she crossed the street, Owen smiled and stepped out of the alley into her path.

"Hello, luv, I was thinking you might be able to help me."

"Excuse me?" She tried to move past him, but he stepped in front of her, taking a small knife out of his pocket as he did.

"Yes..." Owen glanced down and he casually toyed with the blade. He looked back at her face and smirked, "I was hoping you could tell me where I might find Agent Curt Mega."

***

It had taken less time than Owen expected to find where Curt lived. The woman has given him directions to the small, grimy house before he'd let her run off. The building was a sorry affair, set back from the road by an overgrown yard, and covered in splattered mud. Not the sort of place Owen had expected his former partner taking his retirement.

_Retirement_.

The word grated against Owen's thoughts and annoyed him even more. Somehow the thought of Curt abandoning the work he'd been so good at to spend months doing nothing _by_ _choice_ annoyed Owen more than if Curt were still one of the world's best spies.

Owen stared at the house before him for a long time before he finally got out of his car. It took more effort than he cared to admit. Moving quietly, he walked through a neighbor's yard around to the back of the house. Stepping over the low fence, Owen crept to the back window, doing his best to press against the wall of the house as he did. He drew the knife out of his coat and turned it in his hand before looking in.

He was there. Curt sat slumped at the kitchen table, facing away from the window so that Owen only saw him in profile. He hadn't shaved in at least a few weeks and his gaze was unfocused as he listlessly fiddled with a photograph, turning it over and over. Owen swallowed and tightened his grip on the knife handle. He was so pathetic. Owen felt his anger rise. How could he have sunk so low? He couldn't at least have the decency to be worth resenting.

Owen watched, motionless, as Curt continued to stare blankly at the photo. Then he let it fall from his and hands and dropped his head onto his folded arms, his shoulders shaking.

Owen released his grip on the knife and slowly backed out of the garden.

***

"Mr. Cavour?"

Owen paused, his drink half way to his mouth.

"Or do you still go by Agent?" The man who had spoken slid into the stool next to him and smiled, "No, you wouldn't, would you? After all, it's not like you're still a member of MI6."

Owen slowly set his glass down on the bar in front of him, "Do I know you, mate?" He spoke with a less polished accent, and didn't look at the man.

"No, but my colleagues and I have been interested in you for some time now. We followed your recovery with interest, Mr. Carvour."

Owen scoffed and glanced down at his drink, "'Fraid you've got the wrong man," he brought the glass to his lips, "That Carvour bloke died eight months ago."

The man next to him smiled again, "Of course. However, I think that you'll find my organization is still quite interested in your... particular skills."

Owen finally turned to look at the man next to him, "And what organization might that be?"

"Chimera."


End file.
